


Scar Tissue of Their Worlds

by soniagiris



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 3+1 Things, Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Smoking, Lowercase, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuuichi, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 10:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11205732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soniagiris/pseuds/soniagiris
Summary: they chose their own futures.ENDGAME V3 SPOILERS





	Scar Tissue of Their Worlds

_ one. of kitchen knives _

 

three months after the end of the game himiko calls him for the last time. shuichi watches the phone buzz on his desk, preprogrammed picture of her flashing on the screen. it leaves a sharp taste in his mouth, but shuichi doesn't pull his burning eyes from himiko's soft ones. the ringtone comes from original dangan ronpa, all harsh electronic sounds and promises of blood and—

he shivers the whole time through it. when the buzzing stops, he chucks the phone into the trashcan and tries to find his breathing between the prickling lines left by a razor he stole from his uncle and the cigarette smoke burning his lungs.

come the next week, and when team dangan ronpa can't contact him for the biweekly checkup, their intern shows up in his— his uncle's house. her hair sticks from her skull in gelled up thorns, and her voice lilts with fake kindness. she reminds him of shirogane. she presses a new phone in his hands and winks at him. we miss you, she trills. and shuichi wrinkles his nose at the offensive smell of her deodorant.

when he leaves for work, he doesn't take this offering with him. no one cares, after all. 

the woman he's working under, a full-fledged, famous, flat-eyed detective who, he thinks with a stale bitterness, probably inspired the writers to create the kirigiri family, hands him another stack of documents to carry to the archive and tells him to stay safe. he nods.

he ends up hyperventilating in the bathroom after hearing someone hum beethoven, his fingers itching for something sharp and fucking  _ real _ , when everything becomes  _ too real, it's too much, he wants to go back back back— _

 

* * *

 

_ two. of fish knives _

 

someone told her that her name means 'poppies' in one language or another. maki asks them to shut up, but the sudden anger feels dull. it ebbs and flows, and disgusts her. the sun hasn't even been reborn before she packs her bag and hops into a train. doesn't bother checking where it goes.

she rests her cheek on the dust-covered window, squinting to see the moving landscape, but there's a film covering her. she isn't really there.

if she lets go a bit more, she can pretend momota is by her side, talking animatedly about terminal velocities and the relativity of time. maki smiles wanly, then bites on a banana. barely registers the taste. 

spotting a glistening sea poking from behind the trees, she picks up her duffel and decides it's her stop. she buys three water bottles and a fresh towel in the small store, and the cashier grins when he sees her dangan ronpa themed credit card. maki pulls on the frame of her sunglasses.

the lukewarm wind tugs on her clothes, messing up her haphazardly cut hair which curls in the humid breeze. she throws her leather jacket on the sand, right where it goes from bright and dry to damp and heavy, sits down and stretches her bared legs out. 

a stray wave splashes against her feet and ankles, and it's chilly enough to make her curl her toes. but her teeth don't chatter, her mind doesn't truly register the cold.

she uncaps a bottle and drinks from it, thinks about salt and ghosts. if stars aren't real, then she isn't either.

 

* * *

 

_ three. of butterfly knives _

 

you gotta lose it, himiko sings as she dumps her failed art project into the toilet. predictably, it clogs and she has to google wikihow articles on becoming a plumber, and spends next eight days fiddling with her sink, and then abandons it and strolls to the music shop. when she tries to decide on a violin, a staff member recognizes her, begs for an autograph and finally offers her a discount, which is almost enough not to make her wince about his gushing over how it's been nineteen seasons since a moe character survived. 

the violin she donates to an orphanage before the end of the week, and she starts dabbling in sociology, then in songwriting, then in geophysics, then then then.

her hands stay busy, and her mind doesn't scream. she does when she tries to sing finnish death metal, and then she throws away the cds and models for a kindergarten commercial. it's well paid, and a good addition to her savings, but she gets bored of it. 

when himiko gets bored, she freezes. no, no, she can't do that, no no no, so pottery it is. and then she signs to a french course, and then she makes a mistake and watches the first three dangan ronpa seasons.

it leaves her reeling, but then she attends a fan convention and manages not to cry about her dead friends and dead phone. 

she takes a selfie with a prepubescent girl in saionji cosplay, throws out her fingers in a victory sign and smiles. it's easy, to forget. her family gets it, and who cares about her fellow survivors. himiko bites down on her life and soars.

 

* * *

 

_ zero. of stab wounds _

 

on the day himiko publishes her memoir, all three of them meet on the street and somehow manage to recognize each other.

"oi, saihara," maki calls when the man turns away. she grabs his arm and holds on. himiko watches them, her worried gaze flickering from one face to another.

"let's get some coffee," she says after shuichi's shoulders drop in defeat. 

they buy it in seven eleven and sip on it while staring at everything but each other. finally, maki mutters,

"you look good, you two." shuichi ducks his head, mumbling awkwardly about a surgery, while himiko touches her almost entirely gray hair. there is a pattern of wrinkles around maki's lips.

they continue the careful small talk. shuichi mentions getting a job in the precinct, maki describes one of her journeys, himiko shows them a brief footage from her magic show. 

and then they split up, go back to their lives and what they built, they don't allow the others to ruin the fragile structures of the future they chose.

shuichi tucks a cigarette behind his ear and scratches his chin, watching the street below. it's been three years since he last thought of jumping.

maki packs for her trip to slovenia, folding cotton sweaters and soft slacks. it's been three months since she dreamed about momota and her being alive.

himiko paints glitter stars on her cape, thinking about earning money for another plastic surgery. it's been three days since she last saw her youth in the mirror.

it's been thirty years since the game ended.

(it's the last time they see each other.)

**Author's Note:**

> a/n
> 
>   * shot out to everyone from discord chat, especially vee and star, for beta-reading this fic (and screaming at me).
>   * i wrote this in literally 1h bc i was feeling emotional,,,,
>   * yep, 'maki' means 'poopies' in *dramatic drums* polish :3c when i saw maki-chan's name for the first time, i barely suppressed a snort. jfc.
>   * please comment if you can, i crave validation
>   * EDIT 02 VIII 17: i added a few small things here and there, fixed the sentence structure so the flows would be Better(tm) so ayo o/
> 



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